To Be Free Page 12

  Quinn's looking at me, his gaze unfocused and his brow sweat-soaked, his arms from his fingers to his elbows red and charred.

  I swallow thickly.

  “...you're supposed to be in Germany,” I accuse shakily, and he laughs once dryly.

  “No longer smug, are you? I have plenty of commanders at my disposal, and we will stop at nothing to get your IG, and that of your friend there as well.” He's grinning a cruel grin, and I feel like bursting into tears right then and there, everything else be damned. “You think you knew hell with her? My boy, you don't know hell until you've spent a day with me – which you will soon enough.”

  I take off and throw the helmet so fast it flies, crashing onto the pavement and rolling away. Of course, I wasn't fast enough to not have heard his cruel laughter. My heart is beating in overdrive in my chest and I'm hyperventilating, my hands shaking with the fear I can taste in my mouth.

  “Why...” I plea, the tears trailing down now that I no longer see his face. “Why now...?”

  Quinn, still shaky and hurt, turns to look at me fully and holds my head up so I can catch his tired gaze.

  “What's wrong?” he questions, pushing my hair from my face and wiping my tears away. My head falls forward, my forehead resting on his collarbone as a sob rips through my chest.

  “Sarah's father...” I choke out, hands fisting on my thighs. “He's supposed to be in jail – he... he attacked me in court, but the fact that he's out now; Quinn, he's a dangerous man. He's got the worst possible connections and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”

  His hands card through my hair, calming me in the only way he can as we kneel among the dead and the damned. I sigh, wrapping my arms around him and pulling myself against him, as his touch is something I kind of need at the moment. He pulls me against him in response, and for a while we kneel in the carnage and smoking remains, seeking comfort in each other, as the rest of the world doesn't give a damn about us and would rather see us die.

  People usually Run because they want to save themselves or have someone they want to protect, something they can't live without and are trying to continue living alongside. Fighting because that's the sensible thing to do, it's the right thing to do.

  Giving up is never an option to them.

  And I'll die if it means I can protect this love I've found. Before the N.O. tarnishes it and turns it into something vile, something that's the complete opposite of what it is – pure and true – I'd rather die before they turn it into something to be ashamed of.

  That truth is staggeringly clear to me as he holds my face and smiles at me, the sight forcing me to return the gesture because that's just how it is with us now.

  “I'm not ashamed of who we are,” I admit, and he arches an eyebrow, my words coming from absolutely nowhere. I forge on anyways. “I'm not ashamed of the fact that I'm falling in love with you, or that this world is making that seem like a sin. I'll keep fighting and I'll die before I let them turn what we have here, right here between us, into something to be ashamed of. We'll win.”

  Quinn nods, closing his eyes and kissing my forehead, letting his lips linger on my skin there.

  “I love you too,” he says simply, and I believe him. He's a terrible liar anyways. “If we can, we'll stay together forever – and if we part...” he catches my eyes again, smiling slightly, “we will reunite.”

  I return the small smile, nodding slightly; it's just a truth for us now, a staggering reality where we couldn't avoid the truth if we'd tried. The world could think us the antichrist for all I care, but so long as the feelings between us, tying us by an ever-cliché red string of fate, remain pure, I'll gladly take that hate.

  As long as we're connected, I can survive.

  Carry On, Brave Little Soldier

  QUINN

  We slip into Oregon within the next two days, right under the noses of the helicopters and running by more than one set of troops scouting for us on foot. Seb and I don't get much rest during those long hours, one of us taking watch at night while the other sleeps a handful of hours, switching roles mid-way through the night and taking off in the morning.

  More than once, we have to run through the night. Blind as can be, we make tracks through the plains and thin copse of trees until we reach Ashland, and wait out the troop shadowing us with heavy footsteps behind the fence of a modernized home, panting for breath and shielding ourselves from the eyes of any curious passerby by covering ourselves as best we can with the cloaks on our backs. Seb's looking dead on his feet when we stand, and he staggers into me, clinging with hands weak as a kitten.

  His spells have been getting worse in the last few hours. More than once we've had to rely on his abilities to get us out of a sticky situation, and it's just piling up one after the other. His skin is paler than usual, and his eyes have this permanently unfocused look, stained red with the telltale sign of time messing with his mind.

  I pull his arm over my shoulders, and he leans against me, shaking so much I'm surprised he hasn't shattered yet.

  “Make it stop,” he pleas quietly, his voice breaking. Hearing him beg for respite makes my gut lurch in a painful way, and I press a chaste kiss to his jaw before I begin leading him along the grassy lot hidden from the public with a high fence and thick trees almost blocking out the sunlight. The sky is a winking mirage between lush trees slowly bleeding out their vibrant hues.

  “Just a bit longer and you can sleep it off,” I promise, squeezing his hand gently. We had to leave behind the other pack, unable to take it with us during this latest mad dash to safety, and I fear it'll come back to bite us in the ass soon enough. “Don't worry, Seb; I'll find us a safe place to rest.”

  He's shaking his head, a sound heavily resembling a whimper leaving his lips just before his knees give out and he falls to the grass, slipping from my grip. I manage to hold on, falling with him as he careens sideways, colliding into me and no longer able to support himself. Propping him up by gripping him around his chest, the best I can do is keep his head on my shoulder as I mentally curse everything that's gotten us to this point.

  We're both only human; you can't expect us to go much further, and even I'm feeling the burn I've been ignoring these past two days, the result of using my gift as well. I glance around as I chew my lower lip, clutching my shaking companion to my person as I get an idea so fucking stupid and reckless it becomes the only possible solution that'll see him alive and well, and not at his deathbed.

  There isn't a shadow of a doubt in my mind that that's where he's heading at this rate. For Christ's sake, eight bloody times in the last sixteen hours would do that to anyone, and I'm honestly surprised he's lasted this long, given the fact that his gift seems more powerful than he's letting on.

  As any person knows, with more power comes more responsibility... and more footnotes in the contract.

  I manage to bring my half-dead partner to a shady, well-hidden patch of grass and lie him down on the surface, covering him with my cloak as an afterthought and brushing his hair from his face. His eyelids flutter open as I crouch near him, and he immediately tries to sit up, only to start shivering uncontrollably and start heaving, even though all he manages to throw up is stomach acid and the lingering remains of what we ate about twenty-six hours ago. He dry-heaves for a bit, coughing violently, and all I can do for a while is hold Seb's hair from his face and rub soothing circles on his back.

  Throughout his entire fit, he's swearing breathlessly and taught as a bowstring.

  “I'm going to find us a place we can breathe easy for a day or two,” I inform him, and he whips his head in my direction, only to lose his balance shortly thereafter and tilt to his side dangerously. I catch him, holding him against me. Nine simply shivers in my grasp, closing his eyes and breathing carefully, raggedly. “Stay here for a bit, love, and don't go anywhere. Just lay low and try to catch your breath.”

  He's nodding, and manages to hold his head enough to offer me a weary smile.

&nbs
p; “Why is it that you're always the one taking care of me?” Seb asks, bemused, and I kiss his forehead before I guide him back down onto the grass. He doesn't offer a complaint this time, and once he's settled again he grabs my wrist with surprising strength just as I begin standing. When I meet his eyes, a chill races up my spine at the unfocused, dead-man's stare. “You'd better fucking come back alive, or I swear I'll haunt your ass and it won't be Lucifer you'll have to fear.”

  I laugh uneasily, drawing away from his hold and standing, looking back at him once before I cautiously walk over to the back door of the home this backyard belongs to. The three steps I take offer no protest, their wooden surface leading to a sun deck with a handful of chairs and a walkway leading to the decently-sized pool dug into the ground. Green and orange leaves float on the surface of the blue liquid, promising the kiss of fall the wind is whispering about in hushed tones against my skin. I reach the large glass doors and peer through the darkened glass, noticing some movement within.

  Well, I wasn't looking for a place to break into, really. As the door swings open and the resident – or I assume, anyways – locks gazes with me to inquire as to why I'm standing on their back porch, I find my hands shaking at my sides.

  The young woman is easily in her twenties, with short-cropped blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her smile, when she offers it to me, is curious yet friendly, and she's wearing a simple ensemble of a short-sleeved white shirt that hints at a bit of cleavage and a pair of ratty whitewashed jeans that have seen better days. The cool air sweeps over me as it escapes the confines of the home, bringing with it the smell of a lunch in the process of being concocted further within.

  “You know, people usually use the front door,” she remarks with a friendly grin, and her calm nature somehow allows me to relax my tense posture, though my hands still shake. Someone calls her name – Melissa, I gather – and inquires about me, and she shoots a calm give me a minute over her shoulder before turning her calming gaze back onto me. “Is there something I can help you with...?”

  “Quinn,” I supply, and she nods politely, her smile widening slightly and revealing a set of slightly crooked teeth that add to her charm. “Look, I really wouldn't do this if he wasn't in really bad shape, but my friend's feeling horribly under the weather and we've been running for so long without rest that I feel he's going to die if we don't-”

  She stops my tirade by calling over her shoulder to the person who questioned her, slipping the door shut as she gives me a look completely professional, without a hint of apprehension. This woman is honestly an open book.

  “Where is he?”

  The two of us manage to get Seb inside without waking him too much, though once we set him down in the spare bedroom in the vast house she checks his temperature and tells me he's running a fever. I stand in the room his prone form's occupying, a bundle of nerves as I grip my hair and watch her carefully coax a nearly-unresponsive Seb into taking some medication.

  His reaction is instantaneous: he shouts, screaming a single name that has me running to his side and holding him against me as he starts shaking, crying, about the girl who destroyed his life.

  “She's a friend,” I whisper to him, shaking my head to Melissa and mouthing the word later at her. She nods, her bright blue eyes wide as she holds a hand to her chest and tries to calm her racing heart. It takes a full five minutes to calm him down, and I manage to coax the broken man into taking the medication and lying back into the bed. Once he's got his head on the pillow he's out like a light, lying on the most comfortable surface he's probably been on in quite some time, I'd wager.

  I follow Melissa out and down the winding staircase of a very modern home, the back wall made of glass and allowing a fine view of the backyard. There's a chandelier hanging from the ceiling over the mahogany table, sitting near a small sitting area and the door leading to the source of the smell – the kitchen.

  “You... you're aware of what we are, right?” I question as I follow the woman into the kitchen, where a red-haired woman around the same age as Melissa stands by the oven, stirring the contents held within the pot. With a small nod the woman invites me to sit on the bar stool of the island counter, fetching me a glass of water. I take the glass gratefully, drinking my fill before I cradle it between my hands and look around while she formulates her reply.

  The kitchen is just as modern, that being the norm of the cities the New Order has confined Americans to. The cupboards are white and the fridge is stainless steel, a breakfast table sitting by the dark-shuttered windows to the back of the room.

  “You two are Runners,” Melissa states bluntly, offering me the name of the other woman: Janice. The redhead offers me a kind smile before turning her green eyes to her concoction, stirring in a few more spices while holding her red curls out of her face. “Your friend is in bad shape, Quinn, and we've had more than our fair share of your kin through here. The road from here on in is tough, and the security gets even tighter the closer you get to the border.”

  Saying this, she pulls out an extra pair of plates and sets them over the first two square pieces sitting on the counter, reaching for a package of spaghetti noodles from the glass jar sitting on the ceramic counter and spilling them into the pot of boiling water. Then she leans against the counter, watching me.

  “Besides, only a true monster would turn you away when you so needed help. You've told me of your ordeals thus far, and getting through to Canada won't be easy for you two, seeing as how the N.O. has a keen interest in Sebastian,” she sighs, shrugging a shoulder. “Having said that, we're well-equipped to see your friend recuperate and help you on your way.”

  “I... I thank you, both of you, for helping him,” I reply quietly, looking to the half-empty glass in my hands and swirling the liquid idly. “I'm sorry, I just... why would you risk your lives to help any Runner? It's capital punishment for those who aid us.”

  They exchange a glance, and Janice nods quietly at her companion, turning back to stir the sauce without another word. She hasn't said anything since I've come in.

  “The N.O. isn't as active here, which is why quite a few people are secretly in same-sex relations, especially in this town. Higher up in the state, you can't even breathe without getting searched,” she informs me, rolling her eyes. “Janice and I have been secretly partnered for... eight years, was it?”

  She looks over her shoulder for confirmation, and the redhead smiles.

  “More often than not, you'll find someone in Ashland who's either had relations of this kind or is currently in a relationship with a partner of the same sex,” she states, her voice a tad quieter than Melissa's. “What's your story with the man? Are you two lovers?”

  I splutter, having been in the middle of taking a drink of water, and cough a bit to try and clear up my windpipe. The redhead arches a bemused eyebrow at me and the blonde simply laughs lightly, and they both wait for me to calm down enough to answer.

  “Actually, no,” I deny. They don't seem to believe me too much. “Well, at least, I'm not sure what we are, but we definitely haven't done anything of that sort. We broke out of the facility together and stuck around for survival purposes, mostly, but things happened and... yeah.”

  I shrug a shoulder after finishing off my sentence in the lamest fashion you could possibly imagine, radiating awkward, and the women offer me mercy. Instead, the blonde asks a different question.

  “What happened to him?”

  This time I sigh, pressing a hand to my face and shielding my eyes with the appendage as the memories of the last two days assaults me, making me curl slightly into myself in my seat. The guilt builds up in my throat, bringing the worst taste to my mouth and warning me that I'm a moment away from spewing.

  Bolting out of my seat I make it to the sink before I disgorge the lingering remnants in my stomach, the acid burning up my throat and my nose, making me cough painfully in the middle of heaving. The images are garish, painted across my eyelids for the rest of eternity, and
force my stomach to roll once more and my body to try and purge the memories from my mind through the contents of my long-ago meal.

  I'm shaking almost uncontrollably, the water running beside me and trickling down the side of my face, but I find I care very little about that fact. The dark, wet strands cling to my face and trail slightly in the mess on the stainless steel, and Melissa kindly does her best to hold the rest from following suit. My throat is burning and the taste in my mouth is enough to force one final, half-assed heave before I slump forward slightly, spent.

  “He deserves so much better than me,” I whisper, a trail of bile trickling from my mouth as I speak, and I don't do anything to force it from my being. I also write off the liquid trailing over my cheeks as the water pouring over my forehead. “We really are monsters.”

  For a while I stand there, hunched over their kitchen sink, but neither woman complains. Janice turns off the stove and Melissa offers me quiet reassurance, and after a few more minutes I manage to cup water into my hands and rinse out my mouth, taking the towel offered to me to dry my face and fringe.

  When I sit back on the stool Janice strains the water from the pot of noodles, mixing sauce and pasta before serving three plates and bringing them to the breakfast table, asking me to join them. The meal is warm and fills me in a way I haven't been in what seems like ages, and during the course of the meal they elude to the topic that forced a physical reaction out of me, instead describing their lives and how they met, how they keep the charade up. The people they've helped over the years, as well, and their stories.

  Finally, after the refreshing meal Melissa leads me to the second washroom upstairs that's connected to Seb's room, informing me that she'll return shortly with a set of clothes for me and Seb and telling me to go ahead and relax for a while in the tub. As I draw the water and wait for it to fill the claw-footed ceramic basin, she returns with a set of blessedly normal clothes, and a fresh suit looking quite different from the one on my back. She tells me where the towels and takes out the odds and ends I'll need, leaving me in peace with a parting smile.